Integrity as a Luxury

on selling out because you can't afford not to, working for free, and talking about money at parties

Excuse me, but I’m going to beat a dead horse for a few hundred words. A friend of mine recently reminded me that most people, especially people on Substack, don’t really care if the horse is dead. They don’t care if you’ve personally killed it. So yes, I will be writing about milking my personal life for content, which is maybe only marginally better than actually milking my personal life for content. I’m also going to talk about some of the things I usually refrain from discussing, at least publicly. I have spent hours talking about the woes of creative industries, how low or unpaid work means only a specific subset of people can even afford to try and make it, and how I feel guilty for doing it, but how I’ll also continue to say yes to anything. These comments are always made off the record, usually to close friends, and often under the influence.

Café Kick is the scene of the crime where I spill my guts

We’re not supposed to Talk About Money

Along with politics and religion, it’s one of the topics you were historically meant to steer clear of. Depending on which spaces you occupy and the circles you run with, political discussions are commonplace. It’s hard to avoid anyway; everything is political. Most people end up surrounding themselves with people with similar views, call it an echo chamber or the result of the environments in which they grew up. My parents are very liberal, and most of my friends are left-leaning. Still, depending on my surroundings, I know when to refrain from making certain comments and am pretty skilled at steering the conversation towards something else. I joke that I’m culturally Catholic, but will always accept an invitation to celebrate Passover or Eid. With the combination of a newfound interest in choral evensong (don’t ask) and the release of Yesteryear, I have also found myself discussing scripture for the first time since Sunday school.

Money is a different story, though. It still feels crass to bring it up, and I still skirt around it when it needs to be discussed. I recently had to price a project unlike anything I’d done before. I had no idea where to start. I asked ChatGPT before reaching out to a couple of friends who might have some idea. I got ballpark figures and some general advice and was planning on just making something up. After a couple of hours on the phone with my brother, he helped me figure something out. There were spreadsheets involved, and tallying up hours of work, dividing and multiplying by a day rate. It was the first time I was told to put a price tag on my work. I had never had to come up with a number before; I was used to being told a rate and going with that.

Integrity is a Luxury Few Can Afford

I’ve joked that writing keeps me humble. I am doing this purely for the love of the game. There’s no real money in it, no security or clout, and the occasional glamorous moments make up a sliver of your day-to-day. I have a lot of writers and journalists in my life, some I met in the past year, most of them watched me grow up. When I considered pursuing this as a career, they all asked me are you sure? It’s a job that comes with warnings and caveats. I still love what I do, but I spend most of my days alone, staring at my computer screen. There’s a lot of admin, following up, chasing invoices, drafting emails and reaching out.

Across platforms and publications, most of my readership is comprised of young women. I love it. I grew up reading Cosmo, Rookie and Seventeen. I had a subscription to the American Girl Magazine as a child, which transitioned into Teen Vogue and Capricho as my interests shifted from summer DIYs to quizzes and style advice. I’ve always felt strongly about respecting your audience. I have a massive bone to pick with people who built their careers off the back of teen girls, only to turn around and dismiss them once they take off. Young women also make up a large portion of the people churning out the diaristic writing that thrives on Substack. There are obvious consequences that come with writing about your personal life, and I’m still figuring out how to toe that line. My willingness to share in part comes down to being twenty-three and thinking none of it is that deep. My parents also read everything I write, which works as a built-in litmus test. I will admit, though, that whilst the age-old advice of write what you know is helpful, it also means that I end up writing whatever is easiest. There’s no in-depth research going on; I’m usually curling up with my computer after a long day and going off vibes alone. The general tone of what’s landing in people’s inboxes is whatever tangent I’d go on over dinner with friends that week.

Selling a Lie and Joining a Pyramid Scheme

I recently got my first cover story. I didn’t realise how big a deal it was going to be. Not for everyone else, the announcement came out and life went on, but for me. In a chat with Juno a few weeks ago, she told me to celebrate every win. I was asking for advice; I’m always pestering people with more experience with questions, and figured I owed her a coffee at this point. When you’re growing up, everything is mapped out for you; you know the next steps and when each milestone is coming up. Once you leave university, though, it’s all up in the air. There are things that might start to crop up in your personal life, weddings, kids, houses, but there’s no guarantee or deadlines. On the career front, for most people with corporate jobs, a progression is laid out. You celebrate promotions, there are bonuses and drinks and a timeline. It’s messier as a freelancer. By the time a story comes out, you’re already working on the next thing.

I’ve taken to saying that I didn’t choose the freelance life; it chose me. I vehemently agree with the tweet that starts recirculating every spring when a new batch of fresh grads start [attempting] to enter the workforce: job market so bad I might just follow my dreams. A couple of years ago, my vision for the future was one of structure. Management consulting, maybe advertising if I was feeling a bit out there, eighty-hour weeks and a cycle to work scheme. I applied to hundreds of jobs, and ended up realising that I was going to have to make something up. I am now so grateful that those things didn’t work out. I would have probably been more stable and secure, but I don’t think I would be nearly as happy. I still see all the benefits of a corporate job; a part of me still yearns for the golden shackles. Job hunting had been ruining my life for almost nine months. I was a shell of a human, brought back to life through rediscovering a passion for writing and a prescription for fluoxetine. It didn’t feel like a decision at the time; I can’t pinpoint the moment I decided I was giving myself a year to fully commit to something else. I always did better with deadlines, and now I had one to give this whole writing thing a real chance. I was curious to see how far I could take things.

my friends have never been this excited about my work

Last Friday, saying goodbye to my master’s friends, I cried for the first time in months. These were happy tears. I have been slightly emotionally stunted lately. I didn’t cry saying goodbye to my grandmother when I was leaving Brazil in February, not knowing when I’d be back, and I didn’t shed a single tear when I got dumped by my situationship last month. It wasn’t from a lack of trying, I wasn’t holding back, in fact, I wanted the catharsis that comes after a regenerative sob. I also appreciate a dramatic moment. I was surprised at my inability to hold back tears with them. It was the start of a heatwave, and we spent a celebratory evening downing Aperol Spritzes on a rooftop. The cover story had been announced a couple of days before, and it finally hit me. I was excited, of course. The interview went so well that I handed in my piece a few days early. I remember going to bed thinking I want to remember this feeling. I finally felt like I was doing something right. I had gotten an onslaught of messages from friends, and a couple of DMs from strangers. Girls who ran fan accounts and thought I was the coolest (the highest compliment because I know teen girls run the world), and young writers asking for advice. That threw me off. What the hell did I know?

Welcome to Adulthood

Apparently, not knowing what you’re doing is a key aspect of [early?] adulthood. I didn’t know what advice to give. I could tell someone everything I had done, but I didn’t feel great recommending it. Some things are generally applicable and beneficial. Read a lot. Become familiar with different genres, and have a diverse media diet. Read critically but know when to withhold judgment, even though it might seem contradictory. Ask yourself why things work, what do you like about it, what’s the angle? Write a lot, and accept that much of it will be bad. Work with people who know better than you, and who push you to do better. That’s the advice everyone will give you.

Then there’s the stuff I feel conflicted about sharing. I’ve worked for free or for very little money. I’ve said yes to almost every opportunity. I’m against writing for exposure on principle, but nearly everyone I’ve met in this has done it at some point. I’ve learned so much, I’ve gained experience and met so many people. I believe in earning your place and getting your reps in as a writer. Most writers I know are also doing something else on the side. It comes from necessity, an additional income stream, no one can manage without a part-time job, with everything from retail to copywriting and trend analysis, doing brand partnerships, or financial help from parents or partners. I think doing something else is good for your writing, it exposes you to different perspectives, and keeps you from getting too navel-gaze-y. Having to do something that isn’t part of the dream to make rent is also part of growing up. When I catch up with people whom I haven’t seen in a while and who have been keeping up with my highlight reel, I feel guilty adding to the illusion of the twenty-something magazine girl who has it all figured out, and I make sure to let them know that, whilst I love writing and I’m having so much fun, that’s not what’s bankrolling my life. Yet.

Thank you for reading!

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